


Interrogator

by NimbusLlewelyn



Series: Children of the Stars [5]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Rachel Summers, Big Sister Rachel Summers, Dark Past, Gen, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Loss of Parent(s), Non-Sexual Slavery, Podracing (Star Wars), Protective Qui-Gon Jinn, Qui-Gon Jinn is Smart, Qui-Gon Jinn is also completely fucking oblivious, Rachel is enjoying every second of this, Slavery, Tatooine Folklore (Star Wars), Tatooine Slave Culture (Star Wars), Teenagers are dramatic little shits sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29568030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NimbusLlewelyn/pseuds/NimbusLlewelyn
Summary: Anakin Skywalker is 9 years old, and as destiny inevitably has it, Qui-Gon Jinn comes to Tatooine. Encountering a youngling with such potential, he naturally intends to free him (and get a hyperdrive to get off-planet). Of course, first he has to deal with a greedy Toydarian slave owner, and a local legend - one rather suspicious of his intentions towards the Skywalkers. The first is easy to deal with. The second could be rather more complicated.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Rachel Summers, Anakin Skywalker & Shmi Skywalker, Shmi Skywalker & Rachel Summers
Series: Children of the Stars [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2102040
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39





	Interrogator

"I just happen to have a chance cube here," Watto sneers. "Blue—it's the boy. Red—his mother."

Qui-Gon prepares to surreptitiously nudge the cube towards freeing Anakin (if he'd had his way, he'd free both, but short of threatening the Toydarian at sabre-point, he's not got the leverage to achieve that). However, before he can, before the cube even lands, it stops, hovering in mid-air.

Watto's eyes bulge, and he stares accusingly at Qui-Gon, who is a bit puzzled himself. It is not him, and Obi-Wan is nowhere nearby. Then, the Toydarian’s gaze shifts past him, and he visibly falters in mid-air, all but dropping to the ground as he jolts backwards.

“Both of them, Watto,” a cool voice says. It is female, and human or near-human, an assessment supported by the figure who steps into view beside Qui-Gon. She is of about average height for a human woman on a poor planet, below average by Core standards, meaning that she is not much taller than Watto himself, and a good deal slimmer. At first glance, Qui-Gon thinks, she does not cut an imposing figure. But Qui-Gon has not survived as long as he has as an active Jedi by trusting first glances. And the junk trader is clearly afraid of her.

Her appearance might have something to do with that, he decides after a closer look. There is something eerie about her; of her body, only a pointed pale chin is visible beneath a greyish-green cowled cloak and reddish-brown robes, as well as an equally pale hand with slim but strong fingers holding a staff of carved wood.

There is something strange about it, Qui-Gon realises, as strange as its owner, focused around the strange pearlescent green stone inset near the top. After a moment, he realises what it is: the stone is singing softly in the Force, in a way he has only previously encountered in Kyber crystals. And yet, this is certainly not Kyber, and this woman is almost certainly not a Jedi.

“Both of them?” Watto asks weakly.

“Both of them,” she reiterates, tone growing colder. “It is more than a fair bargain. Especially given that you were using a _weighted_ chance cube.”

The Toydarian, notably, doesn’t object, instead flinching at the (doubtless accurate) accusation and the implied threat. He darts a glance at the woman, who, though her eyes are not visible, gives the impression of delivering a very penetrating stare, before looking up at Qui-Gon. “Both of them,” he says, with some of his previous snap and confidence, evidently reluctant. The woman flicks a hand almost imperiously, and he takes that as his cue to disappear with poorly disguised relief.

“Impressive,” Qui-Gon says mildly. “Toydarians, in my experience, are nothing less than obdurate in any matter, especially those relating to business.” He glances after Watto. “And that one seems to be particularly… stubborn.”

“He is,” the woman says. “But he also knows not to push me. I was offering him a considerably fairer deal than he would have got if I were negotiating it from the start, and he knew it. As a result, he chose to cut his losses.”

Qui-Gon raises an eyebrow at the inflection. “You are an experienced negotiator, then?” he asks mildly. Toydarians can’t easily be fooled by Mind Tricks, and to intimidate one… well. He might have to tread carefully here.

“I have some experience,” the woman says, before looking up at him and brushing back her cowl. To Qui-Gon’s surprise, she is startlingly young – little more than twenty standard, maybe less. Hardly more than a girl, and definitely younger than his Padawan. Aside from her age, she cuts a striking figure.

She has ruby-red hair, several shades darker than Obi-Wan’s cinnamon. It is tied back in a braid and flecked with copper and gold, like flames. Her eyes are a remarkable shade of deep green, the sort he associates with flourishing plants or particularly fine emeralds, and both contrast with surprisingly pale skin for a resident of a binary star system (though that might explain the cowl, he thinks to himself, especially given the freckles across the bridge of her nose and the signs of sunburn). Across her skin is a strange tracery of thin black tattoos, curving inward like claw-marks, sharpening her features and giving her gaze a greater intensity.

She is, he notes to his mild surprise, quite beautiful.

More important than anything physical, however, is what he can sense in the Force. He had thought that Anakin’s Force-presence was extraordinary, even unequalled, yet here he is, standing in front of a woman hardly ten years older who is every bit as powerful as Anakin is. It’s like standing next to a star. Indeed, he thinks in mild shock, she might actually be _stronger_ than Anakin, given her greater age and quite apparent control of her abilities. And here he was beginning to think that Tatooine was running out of ways to surprise him.

Of course, he thinks such a powerful Force-user, clearly more than competent in with their abilities, but also somehow raw – yes, raw, semi-trained at most (perhaps a lost Padawan? Though surely a Padawan of such potential would have been the talk of the Temple on Coruscant, even if they had been training in one of the other Jedi Temples) – is something to be wary of. Not necessarily on principle, but after how she handled that junk trader… she doesn’t feel Dark, he concludes, but she could be a complication.

Yet the Force murmurs to him, and it does not speak of danger. Qui-Gon Jinn did not become a Jedi Master, much less one particularly attuned to the Living Force, by ignoring it when it spoke to him.

So, he is slightly cautious, but polite, inclining his head to her. “At the very least, your intervention has placed me at an advantage,” he says. “For that, I thank you.”

The young woman eyes him – she has been making the same assessment of him as he has of her – and nods curtly. “I didn’t do it for your sake,” she says bluntly.

“You know the Skywalkers, then,” he says.

She smiles wryly. “You could say that,” she says. “Who are you, and what do you want with them?”

Qui-Gon Jinn considers, then decides that openness is the best policy. This young woman does not seem especially patient, and half-trained or not, she more than has the power to cause him some serious difficulty should she wish to do so.

“I am Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn,” he says. “My student and I, along with our companions, were stranded on Tatooine when our hyperdrive malfunctioned. We were seeking a replacement – here, in fact – but found that Republic credits are no good.”

“And the exchange rate is awful,” the young woman observes. “You’d be lucky to get half the value back.”

“As you say,” Qui-Gon agrees. “When alternative negotiation tactics failed –” The young woman looks amused, as if she knows _exactly_ what he’s not saying. “– the Skywalkers offered us a place for the night, and Anakin offered to win us the money to buy the hyperdrive in a pod-race.”

The young woman closed her eyes in what looked very much like resignation. “Of course he did,” she sighed. “And you bet on him?”

“I bet his freedom,” Qui-Gon confirms. “It was to be him or his mother who would be freed if he won.”

“Watto doesn’t want to give up Anakin,” the young woman remarks. “So, he used a loaded chance cube, one that would make sure you only had the chance to win Shmi’s freedom.” She eyes him thoughtfully. “You noticed. You were going to do something about it.”

“I… was prepared to play by his rules,” Qui-Gon equivocates.

That gets a smirk. “You were going to cheat.”

“There is a certain fairness in levelling the playing field,” Qui-Gon says.

This time, the response is genuine laughter. “That there is,” she says, before abruptly, her expression sharpens. “What is your interest in the Skywalkers? And what collateral did you lay down for the bet?”

“In reverse order, our ship,” Qui-Gon says. “It is useless to us if we can’t leave the system. As for the Skywalkers…”

He trails off, considering an evasion, but sees the look in her eye. She knows what he is, she knew before he even told her. She can sense it, just as he can sense her. She knows the Skywalkers too, clearly quite well, so it’s almost certain that she knows what Anakin is (it would explain why, for an untrained child, he has a remarkable ability to hide what he is). So, again, he opts for honesty.

“Anakin has remarkable potential, his strength in the Force is unlike any I have ever seen.” He pauses. “Or at least, any I had ever seen up until I met you.”

“You want him,” she says flatly.

Qui-Gon pauses, then glances up at the sky. Time is passing. “Let us speak on the way to the hangar,” he says, and sets off, the young woman matching his pace. “As it is, I want to train him,” he says. “You are partly trained and you clearly have a significant degree of control over your gifts. I believe that I am not wrong in guessing that you passed some of your knowledge onto him?”

She nods curtly.

“Then you will know that this is one of the worst places for someone of his power to grow up,” Qui-Gon continues. “It is already finding its way out, and he will start using it. At some point, he will go beyond your ability to conceal or restrain. And if that is the case…” He sighs. “Anakin is a very kind, very sweet child, and a brave one, willing to risk his life to help strangers. While most in my Order would say that he is too old to become one of us, I disagree. I think that he has the potential to be a truly exemplary Jedi, for reasons that have nothing to do with his power.”

The young woman’s steps falter for a moment, then in several long, quick strides, she cuts in front of him. Her staff is held across her body at an angle, in a way that is not quite threatening, but definitely warning, while also suggesting that she absolutely knows how to use it for more than just walking.

“You also think he has the potential to become something else,” she says, and there’s a definite chill in her voice, an edge of hostility in her now roiling power. Qui-Gon stays calm, and merely looks her in the eyes.

“Don’t you?” he asks gently.

She glares at him for a long time, but does not deny it.

“Even leaving aside the entirely understandable temptation to use his gifts to free himself and his mother, they are immense and they are still growing,” Qui-Gon says quietly. “If he starts using his powers, or unleashes them in an outburst, then it will not end well for him. Either the slave masters will put him down, or he will be broken to their service, made to pervert the Force to their ends. It has happened many times before, and it has never ended well.”

This gets a sudden flinch out of her, a look of pain and understanding crossing her face. As it does, Qui-Gon suspects that she already knew about this – what he has only read about, she has experienced at first hand.

“That isn’t inevitable,” she says firmly.

“It isn’t,” Qui-Gon agrees, stepping past her and gently guiding her back into step beside him. “You, I think, are testament to that.” She looks startled and he smiles slightly as he continues. “Additionally, Anakin has the advantage of a family to keep him grounded; a mother, and a sister, though his sister is apparently away at the moment, in the desert.”

A flicker of something like amusement passes across her face. “She does that sometimes,” she comments, before eyeing him. “So, you’re not just freeing a slave out of the goodness of your heart, then?”

Qui-Gon feels the sharp edge in that remark. “Are you enquiring out of the goodness of yours?” he asks evenly.

Her green eyes go cold. “I am ensuring their safety,” she says, and the power around her surges dangerously, the soft song of the strange stone in her staff rising to something closer to the roar of an inferno. The brief surge when he’d implied that Anakin might Fall was nothing compared to this. “Whether it is from a slaver… or from a Jedi _Master_.” That last word is emphasised, almost spat.

Qui-Gon’s eyes narrow, and he stifles his instinctive response, instead raising a placating hand. This is her home, he reminds himself. She clearly cares for the Skywalkers deeply, and he is an interloper of uncertain motives. It is natural for her to be wary, at the very least. Besides, it is hardly surprising that she doesn’t have very positive associations with that word.

“My apologies,” he says. “To answer your question, I am glad to have the chance to free Anakin – and now his mother, as well. I only wish I could bargain for his sister, too. If I had the chance in the normal run of things, I would take it. However, I will also not deny that I have an ulterior motive: Anakin needs training.” He softens his tone. “You have done well so far; his control is good for his age, and his knack for disguising himself is remarkable. But there is more for him to learn than you can teach. There is also more for _you_ to learn.”

She looks up at him sharply. “I do alright,” she says, and Qui-Gon senses a whole blend of emotions: stubbornness, defiance, and pride, mixed with both calm confidence and a fear of admitting weakness… but also frustration, intertwined with grief.

“Your teacher was killed,” Qui-Gon realises, though in truth it doesn’t surprise him.

“Teachers,” she says quietly. “Plural. Mom was my first teacher, when I was little, before she got killed. Then her old teacher, the Professor, took over.” She swallows, painful and dry. “He died in my arms. After that…” She trails off.

“I am truly sorry,” Qui-Gon says, and he is. He is also both horrified and grimly impressed. Not many Padawans survive losing one Master, let alone two. If they aren’t killed in the same conflict, the shattering of the bond between Padawan and Master is a terrible thing to experience. It can break minds, and it has caused more Falls than he cares to think about.

He can’t imagine what it would be like to experience twice over, let alone if the first Master was a parent. And given her air of independence, the way she said it, this must have happened a long time ago – perhaps before some were even selected to _be_ Padawans. Yet she seems to have barely brushed the Dark Side. Or at the very least, her presence feels Light. Tumultuous, yes, but Light.

She nods. “You’ll train him, then,” she says.

“I will,” Qui-Gon says. “I have a Padawan of my own, but he is practically ready for Knighthood.” He looks at her. “And if you will consent to come, while I cannot train you as a Jedi – Anakin’s age is pushing it as it is – then I can help you complete your training. At the very least, I can help you find those who will. Not all of those who learn to master the Force are part of the Jedi Order, after all.”

She looks taken aback by that. Not displeased, but genuinely surprised. “You’ve only just met me,” she says a little weakly.

“That does not mean you need help any less than if I had known you for years, young one,” Qui-Gon says, and gets a beady glare without any real heat in it.

“Less of the ‘young one’, Master Jinn,” she says. “I may not be a fully trained Jedi Master –” This time the comment is without venom, but arch irony instead. Qui-Gon imagines this young woman meeting his rather uptight Padawan and stifles a chuckle. That _will_ be amusing. Not half as much as the likely reaction of the Jedi Council, but that is likely to be both amusing and aggravating in equal measure. “– but I manage the Quarter pretty well.”

Qui-Gon does not doubt her. He is not known as being particularly attuned to the Living Force for nothing, and he notices the reactions that her presence garners – awe and gratitude from many, respect from most, curiosity from some, and genuine fear and hatred from others still. He also has good hearing, and hears whispers of names, titles.

The two most prominent are murmurs of “Mistress Askani” from the admirers, and hisses of “Witch” from those who radiate fear. This concerns him a little, but doesn’t entirely surprise him. He saw how the Toydarian junk trader reacted to her, after all. And frankly, even the most well-intentioned Force Users cause reactions like that at times, even on more civilised planets.

Of course, he also suspects that there is a reason for that fear beyond mere superstition. Mos Espa is not a pleasant city to be in, its aura of corruption and misery grating on his senses, and he doesn’t think that his companion has much tolerance for trouble.

“I can see,” he remarks mildly.

She eyes him, then suddenly she looks tired. “Anyway,” she adds. “I haven’t felt really young in a long time.”

From what he can see and what he can infer, Qui-Gon can – sadly – easily believe it.

“My apologies, Mistress Askani,” he says, hazarding a guess.

She chuckles. “You have good ears, Master Jinn,” she says. “Maybe not such good eyes, though.”

“Oh?”

She smirks up at him. “You need to learn to read between the lines.”

When they arrive in the hangar five minutes later and Anakin zooms over to her, babbling excitedly, Qui-Gon realises what she means. Ten seconds after that, the Skywalkers, the so-called ‘Mistress Askani’, and the disguised Queen of Naboo are all treated to the sight of a face-palming Jedi Master.


End file.
